


A Predicament

by SollyinPurplePants



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: 8.3 Spoilers, 8.3 content, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SollyinPurplePants/pseuds/SollyinPurplePants
Summary: Two Draenei get into an argument over a weapon. The story takes place in current 8.3 content!
Kudos: 2





	A Predicament

**Author's Note:**

> I've been rather invested into World of Warcraft as of recently, and I ended up getting attached to one of my toons: a Draenei hunter named Aleem. I've been wanting to write up a story or two based on my experiences leveling him, and 8.3 content certainly proved useful in that regard. XD 
> 
> The other Draenei in the fic is Bezaleel, a shadow priest (he's being developed as an ex-Auchenai priest). I uploaded the fic to ff.net, but went ahead and made changes to the story in order to make it more sound.
> 
> Here's what happened!

In the quiet village of Thelsamar, the sun began to rise over the horizon. With the exception of the mountaineers and fishermen, very few travelled out of the comfort of their homes, let alone their own beds. Even adventurers staying at the Stoutlager Inn wisely stayed inside, for there was a risk of a trogg or ogre coming to attack them during their travels to Ironforge. Near the outskirts of the village, a Draenei hurried on horseback towards Loch Modan. This particular fellow had received a letter of great urgency, forcing him to take up the reins. He knew too well of the ogres and troggs, but he wisely knew that they too were not keen on waking up at such an hour. He arrived on the derelict shoreline, and was disappointed to see another Draenei sitting on a rock. Complete with a hulking grizzly bear resting near his hooves.

“By the Light, it’s you Aleem!” The Draenei exclaimed, quickly spotting Aleem's distinct eyepatch and scarred face. “I thought the war in Kul Tiras would-”

“What made you think I was going to be on the grave ship, Bezaleel?” Aleem asked, ignoring the other’s commentary. “Is it over your mailbox? Or is it over wanting my soul as a weapon?”

"If I wanted your soul, I would have to break it first." Bezaleel huffed, shaking his head before sitting down on a rock close by to the other. “So the Huntmaster has come to ask me for my help?” He started, raising an eyebrow. "My, this is interesting indeed."

Aleem paid no attention to Bezaleel’s reply and said, “I know you work quite extensively with crazy shit Bez, and I need help in that regard. It’s something… about a weapon.”

“The Naaru are with me today!” Bezaleel thought, and with a smug grin, took his time scanning the expression on Aleem’s face. “Now Aleem, I am not a miracle healer. But, the way you’re looking is making me wonder what sort of weapon you picked up. Was it cursed?”

“It wasn't cursed!” Aleem thought, but he threw a glare at the priest. “Do I look like the type who’d go around plundering ruins?” He asked, folding his arms. The bear perked up, as if to show concern.

“The spirits at Auchindoun still haven't forgiven you for your trespass.” Bezaleel replied, placing a pale white hand over his forehead. He wanted to strangle that idiot, but he didn’t want to incur the wrath of a warrior said idiot oh so fondly loved. “Now, about that weapon...”

Aleem nodded, and presented a case to Bezaleel. “I picked it up recently in Stormsong.” He started, albeit with hesitation. “It helped out initially, but I started to touch the Void and hear its whispers.”

“More like seduced the Void...” Bezaleel muttered, and ordered the hunter to hand over the case. He opened the case, expecting it to be a sword or a staff. Instead, it was a hunting rifle. “ _Ashjrakamas_!” He snapped, closing the case immediately with a swift smack of his tail. “What makes you think the Void touched a rifle? Let alone, a _**Kul Tiran**_ hunting rifle!?”

“Let me explain. When I assembled it and tried to take aim, I felt I wasn’t myself.” Aleem calmly said, opening the case once more. “When I fired, I was in pain.” Even before assembling the rifle, his blue skin became covered in goosebumps. This did not phase him, and once he was ready, he took aim at a stray bottle resting along the shoreline. Immediately upon pulling the trigger, a burning sensation came over him. Purple energy had enveloped him, and Aleem swore that something was wrapping around his neck. “It's trying to kill me! Bezaleel! HELP!”

Bezaleel’s eyes widened at the seriousness of the situation, and made a silent gesture to hand the rifle over. Aleem quickly (and roughly) handed the rifle, and the priest was amazed. Tendrils pushed out of the bolt, and a few began to wrap themselves around Bezaleel’s wrist. Instead of it being harsh like Aleem described, Bezaleel found the touch to be light and gentle. With a small smile, the priest began to stroke one of the tendrils with his free hand. “He just wanted to make a friend.” He cooed, looking at Aleem. “Look at him!”

Aleem grimaced at the eyes that began to spring out of the writhing mess, wondering why he chose to rescue that fool of a priest from the orcs' clutches that fateful day. “I am not touching _that_. What if he strangled me in my sleep?”

Bezaleel shook his head and replied, "Not quite. All it'd do to you is corrupt you into being a servant of a god."

Aleem was bewildered. “What god?” He demanded, getting rather furious. “I killed the remnants of a god called C’thuun-”

“Then that explains your problem!” Bezaleel chuckled, watching Aleem start to inch forward (mostly with the intention of slapping the priest). “It’s the Old Gods! They normally go after your mind, but this one is fascinating. Going after weapons is most unusual...”

Aleem mouthed an insult and sat down firmly on his rock. “Why me?” He asked, burying his face into his palms. “I swear each time I fire, I get shot at by the Void!”

“Oh you poor soul.” Bezaleel said sarcastically. “All this Old God wants to do is love you. I heard rumors from Ironforge that one of his servants knifed him so hard he’s desperate for a new one.”

“Only you _zekul_. Only you.” Aleem thought, looking away from the priest. “And I reckon the whispers are something too, eh?” He asked, his words like poison.

“They want to tell you that you’re not the hope of this world!” Bezaleel grinned, revealing serrated teeth. 

Without speaking, Aleem managed to pry the rifle away from Bezaleel and put it back in the case. “I reckon they also told you that I go murder someone?” He dryly asked.

“Technically, yes." Bezaleel replied. "You'd never kill unless provoked anyway. I reckon the best way to gain their favor is by putting a bullet into the king's-"

Before Bezaleel knew it, he was being chased by an irate hunter and an even more irate bear.


End file.
